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Wednesday, April 30, 2014

BETA for Emeralda

VERSION ONE




In the magnificent Valley of Plenty, there was once no reason for hunger to exist, at all.  

When the Armedmenia arrived, their greed overtook them.

Their avarice, their vices overtook them, and this became the downfall of everyone else.
















0














“In the Times of the End; hunger and the eating of those Dead-from-Hunger revealed one of many Truths.   It was this:  The angry Sun cast a white light with black shadows upon the capacity of Men to dig for bones in the desert.”  --Minister Glinty McFlintlock









When The Sun Rose Again   by Alice In Chains 



Emeralda knew this in her escape.  She saw the atrocities.


But you should know by now that you can never escape.  There is no scape goat.

There is simply the entrance to the next part of your own story.


Time is linear, which inherently means that is has one,



single,



ending.





(To Be Continued, of course)





.












VERSION TWO



Damned flu virus,  Rrrrrgh.  On the mend

Wednesday, April 23, 2014

-

Balance: a fine dance between safety and the eternal depths of the chasm.

Why perform such an act?


Well, perhaps it is due to the difference between a life of relative calm, and that of pleasure.


For a Walk-In, there was no choice.

Walk     -       In





-






 
Smooth Sailing    by Queens Of The Stone Age 







Sven eyed his “brother” sitting there across from him at the tri-legged table in the secret chamber.

The Chairman paced back and forth, slowly, lost in thought, looking back at Sven and Christopher every now and then.

Sven snuck a look at the one in pain, and he savored it.  The other man was on the point of breaking.  Such exquisite agony, and not hidden all that well.


But what would it serve Sven to allow his “brother” to completely lose his hold and then bring the eyes of them Purple Robes upon their secrets?


Sven said, “Ahem.”


Chairman Hegan and Christopher both looked over to him.


Sven said, “I think we should eat now.”



Christopher felt and heard his own belly rumble. 


Fuck.


He was infected with the animal desire of the Cannibal, from the one who had infected him with this disease.


He nodded, and at the same time, his ire arose.  Fuck the Cannibal to his own hell.


He said, “Who can eat at a time like this?!”


He spoke a lie, of course, and not the first, but would it be his last?  He wanted his time alone with Sven.  He wanted to show Sven a really good feasting.



Hegan said, “Agreed.  We should not eat now.  I would like to ask the both of you a couple of questions.  Prince Richard, if you will permit?”  He looked directly into Sven’s eyes.


Sven did not falter.  He’d been waiting for a good game.   He looked up and nodded, and smiled.  The bandages on his face dangled from his constant smiling, each from an end, revealing his injuries.


One eyebrow: missing. 

The skin from his cheek: bitten away. 

Blood seeped anew from the loss of the salve.

Sherry  “the Maid” had done this to him. 

Sven smiled again.  Such a face, when it smiles, will not allow the viewer to smile back all that well.

Hegan said, “Are you still high from smoking crack?”


Sven/young Prince Richard sat back and coughed.  He thought about his options.  Yes, the pain from his wounds was quite lovely to feel, but he needed to explain without giving anything away.

He said, “Yes.”



Hegan felt relieved.  To him, it explained all of the grinning, in spite of the pain.


Hegan nodded back and then turned to the older brother.  He said, “Prince Wahunt?”


Christopher the Chauffeur continued to look down at the table, lost in his own pain, and forgetting his new name. 

He had lost everythi---


SMACK!


Sven swung his hand at the face of his “brother” and the smack echoed in the chamber.

Even the bodyguard snapped his head back.  “Whoah.”


Christopher stood up.  He said, “Fuck You!” 

He held his hands straight out from both sides; fingers snarled into claws.

Hegan shouted, “Secure him!”


Christopher hopped back as Sven slipped sideways.  Christopher dove forth and the bodyguard caught him and wrapped his thick arms around his body.


Hegan said, “You and your wife are in this together!”



Sven smirked for a second and then hid his pleasure.  He played them cards right.



He knew it, and so did his “brother.”



Both would have to bide their time,


…each to kill the other.




But do you know, they faced the Chairman Hegan.  



If they would meet to kill each other, they would have to kill the others first.



One:            Guided by Hunger.


The Other:  Guided by Torment.



It was a zero sum equation.



-












God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.



.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

+ -

The blue sky is an illusion.  The moon has no air, and there, the stars shine during the day against an eternity of black, empty space.



A single star rules our world each day.


He is Sol, and his eye is filled with judgment.



Emeralda couldn’t find her breath. 


The air left her lungs.


Gone, all gone, except for Two:


Her daughters; one apart, one with her, and nothing else mattered anywhere,


anymore,


at all.






 
My God Is The Sun   by QOTSA   






“We can’t find her.”


The words held in the air as if someone had pasted them across its surface.


Chairman Hegan stood up and his chair toppled over onto the stone floor.  He said, “She must be hiding!”


The two brothers looked up from where they sat at the tri-legged table.  One smiled at him and the other couldn’t seem to focus.

Hegan wondered which one of these men before him had a hand in this.  No one could be trusted.  A high position of power lends itself to paranoia, and rightly so.  One must always guard the door on both its sides.


What he did not know was this:

Both of the men before him held hands in this thing.


They were connected now, one from the other, like a devil spawn.

They were connected by hate

…and by hunger.


Climb as he might, the Chairman would soon find that his ladder was constructed with rungs of air.









+   -






Emeralda drove without looking back.  She was no wife of Lot.  Glass pebbles sparkled in the sunlight like diamonds, strewn across the dashboard in front of her, in her hair, and over the blanket covering her baby.


The rear end of the huge vehicle was crunched up from impact against the high adobe wall, but you should know that adobe bricks are not make from cement.  They are made from mud and straw.


Her world had been walled in with this.


How easy to break out, or perhaps, to enter?  


It was false.  



All of it.



Her teachings back in the old country spoke of it to the youth, and now, she came to understand their meaning.



As she drove south, she saw it.



Car wrecks, people running after others, and none of the traffic lights worked.

All the power was gone.


At first she thought is was a blackout in the neighborhood, probably from one of the car wrecks, but soon, she found that the blackout went much further across the desolate city, as she drove to her daughter.






 
Coming Undone   by Korn  





It entered her mind that perhaps her daughter was in danger.  All of Hell appeared to be breaking loose, and she did not know from where it originated, nor how.



But she knew why.



She tried to push such thoughts away, to clear her mind for the task at hand. 





Numb.

Rescue.

Fear.

Escape.





Was this city isolated in its evil wash, or did it go further?  


To where could she escape?


Where was safety, now?


Such wondering can lead someone to panic.


She felt like her world was coming to an end.

If only it wasn’t that the prophesies could be coming true.


It must be something else.


Yes, that was it.


Nothing bad was occurring.


It must have been the pride of them Purple Robes.  They had caused their own downfall.  They had their dues to pay, evidently.

Most assuredly, that was it.



But do you know, Emeralda felt as if the threads of her life were beginning to unravel.


Indeed.


The threads of reality, there in that desert megalopolis called Fuckno,

…well,



The end times had come.





God Help You.

God Help Us All.

---willies out.






.

Friday, April 18, 2014

Beta for place holder DO NOT READ


White Light   by J. R. Richards   http://youtu.be/s4VREt2vn7E




Sleeping With A Friend   by Neon Trees  http://youtu.be/BB7R0ZY9w94
(Gayties)



Waves   by Sleeper Agent  http://youtu.be/Hf9rPrpP3GU
(Slowly spinning video, dizzy)



I Wanna Get Better   by Bleachers  http://youtu.be/8twpQTna_9w
(Dunno.)



Thoughtless   by Korn  http://youtu.be/t0keKk18sZE
(Badass)




The Epilogue    by Crosses  http://youtu.be/16ptWIZ36F4




No Home   by Stukenberg   http://youtu.be/dYcymtuIIQo



Coming Undone   by Korn  http://youtu.be/CSJXle3LP_Q


Changing Of The Seasons   by Two Door Cinema Club 



My God Is The Sun   by QOTSA   http://youtu.be/-90obSa1Az4


Brass Tacks  by  Not In The Face   http://youtu.be/rK9Ebx5zgUY
(Gay bikers, blecch)


VERSION ONE



The blue sky is an illusion.  The moon has no air, and there, the stars shine during the day against an eternity of black, empty space.



A single star rules our world each day.


He is Sol, and his eye is filled with judgment.



Emeralda couldn’t find her breath. 


The air left her lungs.


Gone, all gone, except for Two:


Her daughters; one apart, one with her, and nothing else mattered anywhere,


anymore,


at all.






My God Is The Sun   by QOTSA   http://youtu.be/-90obSa1Az4




“We can’t find her.”


The words held in the air as if someone had pasted them across its surface.


Chairman Hegan stood up and his chair toppled over onto the stone floor.  He said, “She must be hiding!”


The two brothers looked up from where they sat at the tri-legged table.  One smiled at him and the other couldn’t seem to focus.


Hegan wondered which one of these men before him had a hand in this.  No one could be trusted.  A high position of power lends itself to paranoia, and rightly so.  One must always guard the door on both its sides.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

+ - +

Fear.



Shock.


Escape.



Numb.





Song For Isabella  by Stimming   







Birds chirped in dew-sparkling palm trees that stood tall against the bright blue sky.  The desert air of the Central Valley lent itself to aridity, but the night held a mist of cold in its fading arms.


Sunlight warmed the cracking, faded asphalt of the street, making ants scurry more quickly.  Brown adobe bricks in a long, high wall grew lighter as they warmed and dried in the fresh air.

The thin whine of cicadas and heat bugs declared another hot day ahead.  Their buzz grew louder and louder until it became a howl.  Dogs in nearby yards began to howl along with the heightening whine until a cacophony of discordance culminated in an explosion of adobe and hard plaster.

A Chevy Suburban smashed out onto the street in reverse, then swung around and sped forward, hopping over the jumble of bricks and dust strewn across the road.


Emeralda did not look back.




+ - +





Inside the Purple Mansion of them Robed figures from Armedmenia, alarms awoke anew.  Lights flicked on along a map on the wall beyond the bank of security camera video feeds, each in a small black and white television.


One light showed that the garage was open.  Motion sensors announced that motion had occurred in the far-off back quadrant of the expansive estate. Another light showed something quite odd.  It was from the rear wall itself.  The wire inside of the wall had been cut.  This meant only one thing.  The wall had been breached.


The Chairman looked up as the bodyguard pulled out his radio and said, “Come again?”  His earpiece fell out of his ear so whipped the cord out of the plug.  The radio squawked. 

A voice said, “We have an intruder from the North East.  A wall appears to have been opened.  This is Lock Down.”

The Chairman shook his head.  He said, “Call the meeting of the Heads off.  This is not safe for them.  We will need to meet at the Armory.”

The bodyguard relayed this information as the Chairman looked back at the other two who sat across from him.  He said, “We will need to close up, compartmentalize.  Guards at every door, outside and within.  After we find the intruder, then we will leave.”

Sven smiled back at him, and Christopher kept mumbling.  He was saying, “Gone.  Gone…”

He was correct.  His real wife was gone form him forever, and now, the wife of the man whose body he inhabited had also flown the coop.  No one knew that yet, and this lent her time to escape without detection.




+ - +





Workers poked about the charred walls of the staff lodging.  The communal room leered a gap-toothed grin from its missing doors on each wall.  Blackened bodies lied in various positions of pain and prayer.  The darkest part of the day was over.  The supply closet still smoked, and within it, on the floor, lied the crisp body of the woman who had started the fire.

The maid had been overtaken by a the soul of a vindictive woman.  That one sought revenge for the death of her man, Lenny Sustenuto.


Lenny had opened the Gates of Hell.

Sherry did not know that Lenny walked, as she did, along the eternal plane of the Walk-Ins.  If she had, she might not have caused so many to perish in such a horrific manner.  But now, she was without the only one who loved her, and she was without her own body.  She had lost everything.  No one deserved to have anything of their own.  She would find the man who had taken everything from her, and she would kill him a thousand times.  She figured that she could follow him after she killed him, to see where he next would Walk-In.

She was correct that this was possible.

What she didn’t know was that an army of Walk-Ins was growing in that hellhole called Fuckno, and soon, unconscious bodies to inhabit would become a rare commodity, for all.


God Help You.

God Help Us All.


---willies out







.













Saturday, April 12, 2014

Word about Evil Characters

If you want to know how to write about evil, then you have to dance with it.  Writers may talk about characters, and discuss how evil is not real; that it is a construct of religion and morality and ethics, but for the purpose of writing, nothing suits us better than to explore this thing.

To dance with evil is to explore an area inside you, inside each of us all, that we all share.  What sets us humans apart from undomesticated animals is that we control our innate impulses.  Sociopaths may not have this tool. 

What is it that frightens you most?  It may different for each of us, and whether it is due to nature vs. nurture is beside the point.  We can talk about writing, or we can use words as tools, those colors of our palette, to reveal to ourselves what it is that we fear the most.

When you work at digging deep in the boneyard, then others will be drawn to your honesty.  Writers may be telling a story, but a tale that reveals the truth about ourselves rings true, like a bell. Others will see this as bravery.

Otherwise, we are writing on the surface of a lake, instead of diving into the dark depths.

Your antagonist should contain those things you fear.  Reveal to your reader your fears through the evil character. Your protagonist should fight those fears, win or lose.

Or not.



---willies out.




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